


Kiss The Crazy

by WolfVenom



Series: R6S Drabbles [10]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 08:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: Bandit's boo-boos need some kissing better.





	Kiss The Crazy

“Hold your breath, brace, and on the count of three exhale, alright?” A hand pressed into his shoulder, the other grasping his wrist tightly, “one, two–”

  
_“Ahgh!! Fuck!!”_  The bones snapped back into place with a jolt and Bandit cussed the high heavens, writhing against the chair and trying to yank his arm away from the medic behind him. “What the fuck, Doc? You said on three!”

  
The man sighed and grimaced, pushing around the bruised flesh to assess the joint replacement, “I did, so tell me, had I gone to three would you have still gouged my eye out with the scissors you were reaching for?”

  
Bandit glanced at his opposite hand and noticed that, somehow, yes, he had gone for the medical scissors nearby in some unconscious self-defense effort against the pain. Doc earned another grumble and Bandit flexed his fingers with an agonized hiss, at least partly glad that his shoulder wasn’t protruding from his back anymore.

  
Calloused yet intimately gentle hands massaged the sore joint and Bandit groaned, planting his face against the headrest of the seat, rolling his newfound shoulder blade on command from the doctor. “You have multiple fractures along the scapula and glenoid, so expect some persistent aching from the ligaments there. No pressure on the bruises. I’ll prescribe you anti-inflammatories and some painkillers, do  _not_  abuse them, or I’ll break your other humerus.”

  
Doc inspected his work and nodded to himself, fetching a roll of thick white gauze and raising Bandit’s ailed arm tenderly, wrapping the area tightly and ignoring the protests on his patient’s behalf. Once finished, an in-tune instinct of years of familiarity with his team had Doc fetching the nearest wastebasket and turning away so Bandit could retch in peace, nauseated from the pain.

  
Ignoring the sounds, Doc grabbed the cortisol from his medicine cabinet and filled a syringe, sweeping back to Bandit’s side while he was focused on not passing out to depress the plunger into his upper arm. The German hardly noticed.  _Thank God._

  
To the disposal the needle went, and Doc wrung out a folded washcloth under cold water from the sink nearby, returning to press it to Bandit’s feverishly hot forehead. He stood there for several minutes, rubbing soothing circles on Bandit’s back and swapping the rag every so often when it heated up past the point of comfort. By the time his headaches and dry heaving subsided, darkness had already swept Hereford in a soothing blanket of stars.

  
“Are you okay for a few moments?” He asked, leaning down to find eye contact with Bandit, who nodded minutely and went back to hanging his head. Doc patted him softly and went back to his desk to collect a bottle of ibuprofen, checking the contents and counting the number of pills before tossing it into a white paper bag along with a clean syringe and vial of medicine.

  
He collected his clipboard, flipped to Bandit’s file, and noted the recent injury in his patient log, docking off his used supplies for a refill and summarizing an incident report for Six.  _Minor injuries in the GSG9, one stable condition, and one ICU in the SAS, and mild wounds for the GIGN._

  
With Mute in the hospital and Sledge recuperating in sickbay, no one else needed his attention. The mission hung heavy behind his eyes at every blink, watching his squad gunned down before his eyes and lashing out at the White Masks who dared. Carrying Mute back on his shoulder was the worst part, feeling his back warm with the boys’ blood and knowing his life hung right in the veil betwixt.

  
But there was only so much a single field medic could do, and they carted him off in an ambulance for some real medical attention. Thatcher was with him now.

  
So Doc patched up Bandit and stewed in his thoughts alone.

  
When he felt the job was done, the Frenchman helped Bandit to his feet and guided him through the halls back to his bunk, noticing Blitz was not in bed where he was supposed to be. That would be good for Bandit’s recovery, Blitz was a never-ending source of physical strain.

  
Doc helped Bandit into his bed, holding his weight where needed so that he didn’t collapse and hit his head on the railing. Once effectively situating the moron in the safety of his covers, Doc stood and made to leave.

  
A hand brushed his elbow and Doc turned his head to look at Bandit, watched the way he curled up under his covers and peeked out only slightly to show off his puppy eyes. All steadfast resistance bled from Doc’s demeanor and he reluctantly gave in with a sigh, glaring at Bandit’s victorious chuckle while he slid under the sheets, back to his bedmate.

  
“If you even try anything sleazy, I’m going to break your fingers.”

  
“Fine by me, Doc. Jus’ lemme cuddle you for a bit, ‘kay?”

  
Another growl, another reluctant confirmation. Bandit wrapped his gangly arms around Doc, his frame proving wider than usual due to his uniform, but neither seemed to care, both simply bathing in the comfort the other provided and Doc reaching behind to carefully press discomfort out of Bandit’s arm.

  
They both fell asleep in the darkness of the room and in the heat of each other’s arms.

  
Everyone would be all right. They always were.


End file.
